But when Nabin moved next, Ryu Soh-an finally understood what people meant when they said their heart dropped to their feet.
“…It’s okay.”
The sudden touch startled Nabin too, though he didn’t show it much. If it had been anyone else, he might have reacted far more violently—maybe even worse than Soh-an had.
Two months had already passed since he’d returned to being twenty. A short time if you thought of it that way, but long enough in its own right.
The nightmares that haunted him every night still hadn’t left. But they no longer terrified him the way they once had.
Day after day of treatment with Soh-an had slowly begun to mend the mind that had been shattered into pieces. Because of that, Nabin was gaining the strength to endure his nightmares.
And whenever he dreamed, there was always that warm hand by his side, gently stroking his head, easing the fear until it faded away.
Being able to see his mother every day was another source of stability. She was working hard to recover, gradually spending more time in her right mind. Her love for him and her desire to atone had reignited her will to live.
The moments when she was lucid and they could talk quietly together became Nabin’s favorite part of the day.
As Nabin’s condition improved, everyone around him sighed in relief—everyone except Soh-an, who remained uncharacteristically careful around him no matter how much time passed.
Maybe it was because the people who’d left those scars on Nabin were close to him. Soh-an always wore a guilty expression, carrying himself like a criminal in front of him. Then one day, he finally gave voice to the words he’d been holding back for so long.
By then, Nabin already knew Ryu Somin was Soh-an’s real brother. Soh-an confessed that while treating him, he had glimpsed fragments of Nabin’s memories—and he laid bare what kind of ties he had with those people.
It wasn’t just Somin. Han Jigang, Tae Yishin, Gong Min—all of them were like brothers to Soh-an.
When Nabin learned that Soh-an brushed against his memories every time he treated him, he’d been consumed by an indescribable feeling.
He knew Soh-an hadn’t done it on purpose, but it still felt like a secret he had locked away deep inside had been dragged out into the open against his will.
The day he listened to Soh-an’s confessional words, he sat frozen in place, barely able to breathe.
He had suspected Soh-an and Somin might be brothers, but hearing the truth left him stunned, needing time to process it.
Whatever Soh-an read in his silence, when Nabin finally returned to himself, what he saw was Soh-an’s face drenched in tears.
Only then did he realize Soh-an had been suffering just as much. Nabin himself carried secrets from before his regression that he hadn’t even told Hayan, and those unspoken pains sometimes crushed him under their weight.
Clearly, Soh-an too had moments when the truth he couldn’t speak had strangled him with unbearable guilt.
But Soh-an was not Somin. Even if they were blood brothers, Soh-an was someone who had never once harmed him.
No—more than that. Every day, Soh-an sacrificed his own time, giving his all to heal him. Though it wasn’t his sin, he carried himself as though he were atoning for what his friends had done.
Even though those things hadn’t yet happened in this timeline, he still bore them as though he were guilty.
Just as Nabin separated Soh-an and Somin in his own mind, he hoped Soh-an could free himself from that crushing guilt. Already, between them, an invisible but solid foundation of trust had been steadily built.
And so this time, Nabin took the first step. He reached out his hand with the words It’s okay, when Soh-an flinched back like he’d been burned.
“…Ah.”
It was the first time Nabin had ever reached out to him on his own. Soh-an’s eyes trembled, this time with a completely different meaning. And then, into the quiet space that belonged to only the two of them, a foreign presence suddenly intruded.
“Ryu Soh-an.”
Both Nabin and Soh-an froze. They knew exactly whose voice it was.
For Nabin, it was the voice that haunted his nightmares every night—impossible to forget. For Soh-an, it was the voice of someone who had been at his side since childhood.
Distinctive, unforgettable, husky and sharp—it made Nabin, still holding out his hand, forget to even breathe.
Nabin hadn’t yet seen him, with his back turned, but Soh-an clenched his teeth at the sight of Han Jigang. He had thought Jigang’s suspicion toward him was gone, but he had been wrong. And he realized it far too late.
“…Jigang-hyung.”
Soh-an’s gaze flicked toward Nabin. The light had already vanished from his eyes. Worse, his breathing had stilled altogether.
Of all times, the incident had to happen when it was just Nabin and him alone in the mansion. It was almost as if Han Jigang had chosen this exact moment—when Hayan and Kim Su-hyun were away—on purpose.
Never had Soh-an longed for Hayan’s presence more. If anyone was Nabin’s anchor, it was Hayan. With him here, given how much Nabin had recovered, there was hope that nothing disastrous would happen.
But looking at him now, it felt as if all those hours of treatment had been nothing but an illusion, ready to crumble at the first touch of sunlight.
Soh-an quickly recalled when Hayan had left. Judging from the time, there was a chance he would return soon.
Hayan was like someone with separation anxiety when it came to Nabin, unable to leave his side. As soon as he finished his business with the Center Director, he would rush back to Nabin even if he had to force his way with his ability.
Time flowed equally for everyone, but just this once, Soh-an prayed for the clock’s second hand to move faster.
Every time he came to treat Nabin at the mansion, he had been careful to make sure no one was following. Especially after the day he’d lost control, he had been even more vigilant. Yet seeing Han Jigang here now, he realized he had only been fooling himself.
Soh-an might be a Healing Esper and Jigang an Attack Esper, but they were both S-rank. For Soh-an not to notice him until Jigang was right there meant he had used some kind of trick.
“How the hell did you follow me here?”
He should have called for Hayan’s help. Foolishly, he had thought he could handle this alone, and that arrogance had led to this.
On top of that, Soh-an still hadn’t decided how to deal with Jigang. Outwardly, he pretended calm, but because of what Jigang had done to Nabin, he couldn’t treat him the same as before. His heart crumpled like an empty can crushed underfoot.
But this wasn’t the time to drown in guilt or sink into his conflicted feelings. He had to protect Nabin.
Soh-an stepped forward, slowly moving his body to shield Nabin from Jigang, drawing up his mana. Jigang’s eyes, meeting his at close range, were dark and hollow, like ashes left behind by fire.
It seemed Jigang truly had no memory of Nabin. If he had recalled even a fragment, he would have come looking for him long ago.
From what he’d seen in Nabin’s memories, Soh-an had already concluded that Nabin had regressed. Impossible as it seemed, there was no other explanation.
Sometimes in this world, things happened that defied logic. People called such things miracles, evidence that God existed.
What had happened to Nabin was a miracle. And Soh-an believed it was the miracle Nabin was owed. Because what Nabin had lived through couldn’t simply be dismissed as pain.
Even if to others those events hadn’t yet happened, to Nabin, they were as real as lived experience. The vivid memories that breathed inside him were so tangible they could have consumed him whole.
That was why Soh-an felt such a deep rift from Somin and his friends. In Nabin’s memories, the scars they left weren’t things that could be brushed aside as “never happened”—they were too horrific.
The only consolation was that, unlike Nabin’s memories, the perpetrators—including Han Jigang—seemed to remember nothing of him.
In Nabin’s memories, they had clung to him with grotesque obsession. And to Soh-an, who had once lived like a brother alongside them, their twisted hearts were painfully clear—close enough to touch.
Thank you for the chapter😭